


100 Ways

by hannahuwu



Series: Love Song [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Religious Conflict, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahuwu/pseuds/hannahuwu
Summary: "To (whoever watches us in the sky) the Lord himself,With all that's left of me, please bring Kim Hongjoong back.Sincerely,Park Seonghwa."
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong & Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Mark Tuan & Jackson Wang, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Series: Love Song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745866
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erierio_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erierio_o/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read through the tags! (If you don't wanna I'll warn you here: a character in this story is terminally ill and in a coma, another character is always cursing at God). Also, please go read 90210 before you read this ^^

"Honestly, Jesus, fuck you. I don't need your fucking excuses; I'm done 'bearing my own cross', and guess what? I probably would've preferred to have been crucified than have to watch my lover slowly fucking die. And there isn't anything I can do about it. Just watch as he cries, and breathes because that's all he's capable of doing in a coma. God is a sadistic asshole.." Seonghwa slurs as he yells at the dark life-sized statue of Jesus hanging off a cross, rising from the front pew to get closer to the sacred wooden carving. He takes another deep careless swig of the expensive whiskey before continuing, ".. who's probably enjoying all of this, isn't he? Just screwing around with lives, like we're some dumb, mindless puppets. Isn't he?" His hoarse voice cracks at the end of the sentence, laughing painfully.

Months ago, he had been in this same warm spot, on his knees, voicelessly crying, begging for forgiveness, for mercy from the Lord, for anything, a sign- anything. He was now convinced they would never come. All the respect he had once had for the place of worship had disappeared, and the last time he turned up to Sunday service, he interrupted the pastor in the middle of his speech about trusting God. He apologised profusely after and was sorry for embarrassing the pastor, but didn't feel the need to apologise for his words.

"Seonghwa-ssi?" He turned around to meet the concerned wrinkly eyes of Father Suh.

"Father," he mumbled, bringing the three-part empty glass bottle up to swirl its dark contents. Father Suh shakes his head lightly and extends an arm to take the bottle from his hands. Seonghwa frowns. The whole scene looks like an adult taking candy from a baby, and Hongjoong would make some joke about it if he were here. But he wasn't. Hongjoong wasn't here, Hongjoong was lying in a cold white bed, under a thin sheet, eyes shut,  _ always shut. _

"Seonghwa-ssi... would Hongjoong have wanted this?"

"Why does it matter? He's not here, just like God isn't here." Seonghwa's sardonic voice quivers. Father Suh looks sadly in his direction before pulling him towards the front pew, gesturing for him to take a seat. Seonghwa reluctantly sits down, making some room between himself and the Father, eyeing the bottle in his hands. He itches to take it but know the Father will only return the drink if he promises to reel his addiction back, even if ever so slightly. The Father had tried before, giving him the card of a close friend who worked with Alcoholics Anonymous.

Seonghwa had chucked it in the fireplace. Had watched as the piece of paper was consumed by the dense orange flames, nursing a crystal glass filled to the brim with aged wine. It was Hongjoong's favourite. 

"You used to be one of our most devoted followers, Seonghwa,"

"And Hongjoong used to be more than a breathing corpse," he bites back, immediately regretful at the tone of voice he had taken on the Father. He didn't deserve it. He was just trying to help. Just because God was an asshole didn't mean Seonghwa should be one too. "Sorry, Father, I, I didn't mean it," he looks away shamefully. Father Suh shakes his head.

"I have watched you grow up, Seonghwa, in this very church. I have seen you at some of your most vulnerable," Seonghwa chuckles, "and some of your happiest moments. After all, I pronounced you and Hongjoong married." He had. Father Suh was more open-minded than many others at his age. Father Seo, for example, had opposed his marriage and berated Father Suh for letting it take place in a holy building, a place of worship. Seonghwa had been forever thankful to him for it- Hongjoong had so wanted their wedding to be in Seonghwa's childhood church, which seemed like a great idea at the time. Now he felt as if he could see the vivid phantom of Hongjoong peeking out from one of the back rooms, makeup half done, or when was Hongjoong running up the spiralling staircase as Seonghwa huffed out of breath with his lacy white cape falling behind like a fairy tale, or Hongjoong's rosy and slender fingers trailing his shoulder- the cold ruby and diamond-encrusted ring raising goosebumps on the back of his neck. 

Rubies were not a regular for wedding bands, but Hongjoong was special. It suited him, the ring, wrapped around his dainty finger. Seonghwa remembered lifting their hands to the stained-glass windows, the penetrating sunlight reflecting off the gems. 

Now it was back at home, in their jewellery safe. As the nurses had put  _ it, it would be a shame if somebody stole it _ . The idea that a stranger could walk in and potentially hurt his husband infuriated him, and so he deemed it necessary that he paid extra so that Hongjoong would get a private room with a CCTV that he could monitor from his phone. 

"I'm sorry, Father. It's just been too long that I- I'm losing hope," he pauses, steadying his voice, "the hospital thought the swelling of his brain would recede if they put him in a temporary coma. They kept telling me it would barely last a month, then it was two months, and now it's been half a year." Seonghwa took a deep shuddering breath, Father Suh, encouraging him to continue. Let it out; his kind eyes seemed to say.

"We didn't see it coming. Hongjoong always had headaches, and fevers are normal. But after we got married, it felt like he always had a fever, and they were getting worse. He didn't want to go and get it checked. I convinced him- I said- if it was a normal fever, why hadn't  _ I  _ gotten it? I'd been around him so much; it was almost miraculous I hadn't been catching high temperatures. I convinced him it might be more than just a fever. And-" he turned to look back at the statue of Jesu _ s "-I was right _ ." A beat of silence passed. 

"It was much more than just a fever, Father." Seonghwa played with the fabric of his coat, pulling on a loose thread. "It was a brain infection." 

"The doctors called it encephalitis, and Hongjoong had so many of the symptoms that we hadn't caught on to in any of our earlier visits to clinics. Headaches, stiff necks, fevers, all these moments where he'd look off into the distance and look confused like he wasn't sure of anything, where I'd touch him, and for a brief second he'd look at me like I was a  _ stranger- _ like he had  _ never _ met me before. And there were nights where he would wake up screaming, and he would assure me they were just nightmares, but fuck, I should've known he was lying because he was in pain. He was in so much pain his brain needed to get the message across by _ force _ ." Seonghwa gritted his teeth at the memory, digging barely overgrown nails into the damp palm of his hand. He needed some pain to ground himself, or he'd snap again at the poor man. 

"You still shake your leg when you're trying to calm down," Seonghwa chuckled. He hadn't even realised. 

"Yeah, I guess I still do,"

"That hasn't changed,"

"No,"

"Still in that funny little crooked way you do. Like when you were younger, and barely came up to my shoulder. Some things don't change," 

"Some things don't, sure. Most do. Nothing ever lasts forever, Father. When I become bedridden and am dying, I won't be shaking my leg anymore." Father Suh nodded, a silent way of telling Seonghwa to continue. "The vows I took didn't last forever either," 

"In sickness and in health, Seonghwa-ssi."

"But till death does us part, Father _. Till death does us part _ . The man I have taken as a husband I have loved, still love and cherish with every inch of my being. But I can neither have nor hold him, does any day passing matter anymore?" 

"He is still alive, Seonghwa," 

"That's not what it feels like. Not with how the doctors look at me sadly, not how they imply that he will never wake up, that it would take a miracle to save him. I don't have the power to make a miracle, and God doesn't seem like he would want to give us one either," Seonghwa gestures towards the bottle and looks at the elder with pleading eyes. "Please?" 

Reluctantly, Father Suh puts the bottle on the ground. Seonghwa takes it immediately and drinks. It burns. Burns to remind him he can still feel. 

"It feels like he's left me, Father. I'm alone. I have nobody. Everything is meaningless. People come by with their sugar-coated words of comfort all the time. I don't want to hear it. I can't take another love song, all these stupid words of hope that I've been gagging on, waiting, waiting."

"Sometimes, after visiting hours, I drive off for miles and stop at random cities. I scream at random people, and I vent out of boredom to other couples when I meet them in bars. More often than not, I've started fights for no reason. I feel like a jerk. _ I a _ m a jerk." 

He felt like a jerk. But the alcohol made his inner demons rage. And he craved the temporary amnesia, forgetting himself even for a while, forgetting that Hongjoong wasn't at home waiting. He refused to see any of their friends lately. The need to hide his pain was growing with every medical article he read on the condition the other half of his soul had. 

Their friends were scared of his simple words and fierce eyes.

_ Seonghwa was afraid.  _

He ached with the want to go back. But to where? He had nowhere to go. His parents were long gone, and his in-laws blamed him. It hurt. 

To want to love, but to have nobody there. 

"I didn't know being alone would be this hard, Father. What am I supposed to do?" he whispers, a stray tear dripping onto the stone floor as he rises to his feet. 

He needed to leave. It hurts too much to stay here and listen to the words that spill from his lips. 

"I will not sugar-coat my words, Seonghwa-ssi. That is not what I do." 

"Thanks," he reached for the metal door handles.

"If you don't think God is listening, write. It'll make you feel better. Maybe God will read too," Seonghwa laughed drily. 

"Thanks, Father,"

The heavy sound of the door shutting resonates within the church _. Father Suh was probably getting tired of me rambling, too. I hope he gets some res _ t. He was intoxicated, he could tell. He had a few bottles before he got to the church, and the one currently in his grasp was empty. 

The city at night was cold. The weather was pleasant, in truth, a beautiful cold instead of a biting freeze. 

_ "Hwa, wait," _

He froze in his spot, turning around to see a glimpse of red hair disappearing around the corner.

"Hongjoong?" He let the glass slip between his shivering fingers and ran, chasing after the shadow. "Hongjoong, wait!" 

In the darkness, the red beckoned him through alleys, around corners, across streets he had carelessly run through over the yelling angry drivers who's cars threatened to run him over. His heart pounded in his chest; his vision was blurry. How long had he been running? Where was Hongjoong? Where was his Joong? His feet burned, and his head was throbbing as he sank finally, completely losing sight of his lover. As he gathered his breath, he looked around.

_ Oh. _

It was the lake behind their college, the one where they had their first date, their first kiss. All nervous giggling and smiles, hands threaded through each others'. The moon was high in the sky, just as it was currently.

_ "Hwa," _ he listened to the voice; it beckoned him towards the water. Slowly he rose to his feet, taking his shoes off as he made his way to the edge of the water. The water was warm, so warm. Like a hug. A hug. When was the last time he'd been this calm? Standing in the centre, with the water up to his chin, he dipped his head underneath, holding his breath before resurfacing. There was a reflection before him, but it was not his. 

It had cherry-red hair.

"Hongjoong?" he had lunged for it, but the reflection simply rippled away before it appeared in a new position. He chased after it, fingers trying to reach, to touch, to pull the smaller against him. It was so, so warm. How long had he been in the water, chasing after the glassy-eyed man? As if sensing his distress, the figure emerged, fingers wrapping around his torso in an embrace. _ Cold. _

_ "I need you to wake up, Hwa."  _

He gasped, inhaling mouthfuls of air as the security guard kneeling beside him pressed against his chest once more.

"That's it, son. Breathe. Come on, let's dry you off before you end up with hypothermia. I won't ask why you thought it was a good idea to swim at the start of winter. People are all weird, anyway," he mumbled, heaving Seonghwa upwards with a steady grip as they headed towards the security guard housing. Seonghwa felt his teeth chattering together as they walked through the door and dropped in front of the small fireplace, threatening to burn himself with the proximity. The older man pulled him back ever so slightly, placing a warm mug of tea in his hands, a thinning towel around his neck. 

Seonghwa muttered a small "thank you," finally lifting his eyes to scan the building. Although he and Hongjoong had broken a lot of rules regarding where students were and were not meant to be, they had their boundaries. The guardhouse was one of them. It was a humble abode, the size of probably six and a half regular garden sheds. A sofa bed, a small kitchen with a few stools tucked under the counter, the tiny fireplace and a bookshelf. There was a small TV atop the shelf, connected to a small generator with a handle. Seonghwa hadn't realised those still existed. 

"What brings you back here?" The guard finally spoke, pulling a pot out of the top cupboard, rinsing it. 

"You remember me?" The older man chuckled.

"You and your friend made my job a lot more difficult back then. I had to chase the two of you out of every local place you managed to enter. Hard to forget how much I exercised in those few years. How is he, your friend?"

"We got married,"

"Oh, congratulations! Where is he?" Seonghwa pulled the mug away from his lips.

"…he's at home."

"That's nice. Why didn't you come with him?"

"He was feeling a bit under the weather. I told him he should probably sleep instead." It was easier that way. Seonghwa didn't have the mental capacity to explain himself right now. 

"Ah. Well, would you like to join me for supper? I haven't had company over for a very long time now, and it would be nice not to be eating alone," the old man set a bowl down next to Seonghwa as he pulled a stool out by a counter. Seonghwa nodded and thanked him again before practically inhaling the noodles. It reminded him of how many days it had been since he last ate. Quiet, but not awkward. That was a general atmosphere. Should he say anything?

"Y'know, somehow I knew you two would last. Nasty, both of you, I could hear you from the corridors when you used to.." he snickered, "..mess around in places. Sometimes we security guards would bet on which places to avoid. We'd dealt with a whole bunch of your kind, but the two of you probably christened every single place on these grounds." The older man laughed heartily. Seonghwa had to will the blush not to rise, clamping down on the inside of his cheek before the man with greying hair. "Any kids you two got?" 

"No, not yet."

"Will you? Get any, I mean, not that it's any of my business but-"

"Maybe. We don't know yet," Seonghwa smiled. He hoped his tone wasn't too clipped. "Mr..?"

"Lee. Mr Lee, my apologies, I forgot to introduce myself,"

"No, no, Mr Lee, I should've been able to remember. After all, you knew who I was. I am not in the clearest states of mind at this moment."

"I could tell. Nobody goes swimming at this time of the year."

"Has anyone else..?"

"Tried to drown themselves here before? Yes. Succeeded? No. Those ghost stories you used to hear were fake. My job would've been much more interesting if they were real. I think half of them were made up by the staff, mostly to scare the students off-grounds after we killed the lights." Seonghwa laughed this time. The stories didn't keep him off grounds. "Yeah, yeah. Have your funny moments." Mr Lee looked on, amused. 

"Sorry." He paused. "We had a lot of great times back in those days. It feels so long ago. I just wish I could go back." Mr Lee looked back wistfully.

"We all do. I wish for my youth back all the time. But it's not until you lose something that you learn how to appreciate it." A rustling sound, followed by the drag of the stool across the floor. "Do you want any more? I can't finish what's left on the stove, but you'll have to get it on your own. I'm going to try crank on the TV. She's old, but she works fine. Doesn't cost me much either," the man grinned as he turned the handle vigorously, generating electricity. He crossed the small space and approached the stove, cleaning out what was left of the ramyun and tofu before cleaning up. It was the least he could do. 

"I should get going." He glanced down at his wristwatch. The man's eyes chased his, a sad look on his features.

"Yes, of course. But drop by again, won't you? Visit this old man once in a while?"

"Of course, Mr Lee. I will." He smiled at that, finally turning on the TV. Seonghwa shook his hand before walking back out into the cold, dots of white falling around him. It was the first snow of the year. Deciding he wouldn't trust himself to walk again, he flagged a cab and made his way into their apartment, peeling his mud-stained clothes off before stepping into the shower. This time he made sure it was warm. It may have been close to scalding, but he needed it. To feel alive. Reluctantly he made his way into their room and pulled out a set of pyjamas. The bed was left neat and untouched. He hadn't been able to sleep in it for months, instead opting for the living room carpet. He wanted to preserve the scent of Hongjoong in their room for as long as possible.

White bottles of trazodone and flurazepam sat on the window sill, small succulent plants growing out of them. Seonghwa had decided a while ago that it would freshen up the house to have more plants, and the bottles were reusable. This time, he grabbed the full bottles and downed his dosage, drinking water straight from the tap without a glass. When Hongjoong used to do that, he'd scold him. He wasn't in the mood for doing the dishes right now. But the shelves looked like they needed rearranging, he briefly paused before walking over, sifting through the books. He'd arranged them by height, then by genre, then by thickness, but now he felt like each cube compartment should be divided by colour—a distraction. 

Of course, many had a mix of colours, but the most striking tone would determine which square it would be in. An arrangement that would make sense, he decided, was to go by each colour of the rainbow, ending with black and white at the base of the bookshelf. 

They had shopped for all their furniture together, sifting through IKEA catalogues and browsing online stores, agreeing on a general homelike-modern theme.  _ "Billy. Odd name for a bookcase, don't you think?" _ Hongjoong had giggled as Seonghwa read the tag aloud, checking the price. It was minimalistic. A plain white, cube compartments, glass doors. Later on, they'd modified it by adding hooks onto the sides to hang their coats instead of buying a coat stand.  _ "Unnecessary,"  _ the light of his life had deemed it. Leaning down to press a peck to the younger's cheek, he had nodded in response. 

_ Lace,  _ he briefly registers the texture under his fingers as he pulls the photo book ou _ t. Our wedding album, _ he thumbs at the cover. They had left it out front, for people to write wishes and for them to add pictures later. Hongjoong had insisted on buying a simple white book so that they'd be able to reform it, hot glueing dried flowers and hand-drawn stickers as they nestled against each other on the flight to Buenos Aires, anticipating their nineteen-day long honeymoon.

It's almost like re-living short moments as he flips through the pages full of themed polaroids (they'd stocked up well and early, dragging along a nearly ridiculous number of refill sheets on the trip). 

_ "It'll be perfect, Seonghwa-ssi, rest assured. I've sent a copy of all the tickets and passes you'll need to your email just in case you lose the physical ones. The driver is a professional; he'll know all the good spots to go if you ask."  _ The travel agent he had consulted reassured him as he called one last time as he unpacked in their suite, Hongjoong enticingly lifting the bathrobe off his leg in the bathroom doorway (they made full use of the personal jacuzzi that evening). The next two days in Palermo were spent exploring the area with its numerous boutiques, restaurants and cafés, snapping pictures of each other (Seonghwa was incredibly proud of a photo he had taken at the perfect timing when Hongjoong was about to sneeze), followed by a flight to El Calafate, paying a visit to the Perito Moreno Glacier and Los Glaciares National Park over three days. On the seventh day they found themselves flying to Mendoza, their new hotel in the heart of the Lujan de Cuyo wine valley (featuring Hongjoong in velvet dresses with a cut out back, something Seonghwa would probably never recover from). The rest of the trip included a visit to the Iguazú Falls, Florianópolis, and Rio, and ended with a photo with both of them in front of the airport for return to Korea. Seonghwa grinned. Admittedly _ , Hongjoong was right about the final product being worth the time _ . The envelope slid into the last page peered up at him, prompting him to pull it out carefully.

_ Don't cry. _ He reminded himself. 

Hongjoong could be watching, and he'd be even more upset if he knew how fragile Seonghwa had been reduced to after reminiscing. Almost too quickly, he rose, setting the album on the table as he mustered all his remaining energy to walk into their room. He needed some form of comfort.

_ "Dear Park Seonghwa, the love of my life, and soon to be my husband." _

Breathe, Seonghwa. You're fine. 

_ "As I am writing this, you are getting fitted for your suit. They say it is bad luck to see your fiance in the clothes you will wed in before the wedding. I don't believe it, but you do, and if it spares me having to hear you give me a whole list of reasons why patience is key, I might just run away (just kidding, you're permanently bound to me now)." _

He almost chuckles. 

_ "It's a bit difficult for me to believe this is happening. I suppose I've always hoped, longed for you to propose, but it still hasn't sunk in. I can't stop looking at the engagement ring. Wooyoung was teasing me about it. He said if you had put so much thought into the engagement ring, you had probably written a thesis on why you had chosen the wedding band. By the time you get to read this, you'll have seen the one I bought for you. I hope you like it (even if you don't, I hope you pretend you do, Hwa) :c _

_ People think writing these letters is easy. Yunho told me to just 'go with the flow', and I'm doing my best, really, but I'm not entirely sure what to say. To promise to you? I think I've belonged to you since the day we first met. The daydreams I had about us walking down an aisle together are coming true!  _

_ Sorry, I know I say that a lot. But I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you, Park Seonghwa, and take on your last name. Are you excited? I am. I'm glad we've already started paying for that auctioned apartment I managed to get, can you imagine how lovely it'll look once we begin furnishing it? I hope we end up getting some pets; a corgi? Pomeranian? Would you prefer a cat?  _

_ Do you remember when you admitted to like babies, and I jokingly suggested I'll make you some? Right, I still can't do that with the whole male anatomy thing, but I know about you looking up the cost of adoption sometimes. I'd love to raise a family with you, Hwa. Don't even think for one second I'd wish for anything less.  _

_ Anyway, I may be crying now, so I think that's a sign of stopping writing before I ramble on for too long and you get bored of reading nonsense.  _

_ Faithfully and forever yours, _

_ (For now) Kim Hongjoong :)" _

The small smile tugged at the strings of his heart _. How could a man be so impossibly cute?  _ The letter reminded him of what Father Suh had said. Should he pen one down too?  _ Fuck it. Why not. _ He doesn't have that much to lose anyway. How does one start a letter to God, he sighed as he reached over for the outdated calendar on the dressing, a pencil in the other hand. God wasn't worth a fresh sheet of paper. Plus, he'd probably be happy Seonghwa was repurposing. 

_ "To ~~whoever watches us in the sky~~ the Lord himself, _

_ My name is Seonghwa. You know me. At least, I think you know me. You're supposed to know everyone. You're also supposed to be fair, so I'm writing you this letter as a final appeal, then I'll accept whatever you have to throw in my face, big man. Maybe I'll turn to the devil next, but for now, I still believe in you a lot.  _

_ I'm writing to ask you for Hongjoong back.  _

_ Why? Because I miss him. And every time I remind myself of how much I miss him, I miss him more, like there's an endless Hongjoong-shaped void in my heart that refuses any other form of consolation. Maybe you're not cruel, God, but time is. The weather at this moment in time is a pathetic fallacy for my heart. Cold. It warms, occasionally, if I pretend Hongjoong is just far away instead of being in a mostly vegetative state.  _

_ On those days, I like to think of him as being on the other side of the country, waiting for him to come back from a trip. I want to picture him returning, running into my arms as we lock hands and put an end to the winter storm brewing within this hardened thing we call a heart. Sometimes I put my hand over it, just to remind myself it still beats.  _

_ On those days, I watch little floating specks of dust in the air lit up by rays of the sun, and wonder; would I get to him faster if I was the snow in the air, falling, falling, chasing after a man who cannot move? With each snowflake that frosts my window, I wonder about how long I have to wait, about the number of sleepless nights I have to spend, just passing by the edge of the cold winter, awaiting the day my spring will return, and the flowers blossom once more.  _

_ On those days, it hurts more than usual to breathe, exhaling the memories of us painful. The medical staff keep telling me to prepare myself to let go of him. But like the white smoke that disappears in the air as you blow in the bitter freezing wind, the small part of me that tries to erase him fails because I can't let him go yet. Father Suh thinks that the morning to this eternal night I live through will come soon, because no darkness, no season is endless. I'd like to believe that, God; I hope you'll let me feel it.  _

_ On those days, I find myself wondering what it would be like to let myself go. To tell the medical staff to proceed with their suggestions of euthanasia, before I throw myself off the edge of the balcony. I'd ask him to wait just a little bit, only a few more nights before I get to meet him before I come for him. But nobody except you knows how the afterlife works, so I don't. Hence I plead.  _

_ With all that's left of me, please bring Kim Hongjoong back. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Park Seonghwa." _

That's enough for tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

"Just go rest, Hwa. I'll clean up. You won't get any better if you stand over me doing nothing. Take a shower and wait for me in bed. I promise I'll be in there soon." His husband presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, Seonghwa grumbling in disapproval. True, he was burning up with a fever, but he'd feel worse if he let Hongjoong do everything by himself. Hongjoong giggled. "You look like a dejected puppy. Now shoo, shoo. I have work to do." Seonghwa pulled the smaller man into a final hug before doing as told, immediately feeling slightly better after the shower, slipping into a pair of boxers and a cotton tee as he threw himself on Hongjoong's side of the bed, inhaling the soft scent he'd left behind, drifting off into sleep. 

"Hwa?" Hongjoong peered through the doorway once he finished up, chuckling upon the realisation that the man in question was out cold, making his way over to be the smaller spoon, Seonghwa instantly making room to accommodate his petite frame. He sighed into the embrace, turning around to run a hand down the side of the older's face. The raven-haired man opened an eye sleepily, mumbling a "Hongjoong," before nuzzling at the warm touch. "Can you sing me a lullaby?" Hongjoong smiled. 

"Of course I can," he responded, reaching over to turn the table lamp off before pulling the covers over both their bodies. 

" _ Don't you dare look out your window, darling. _

_ Everything's on fire _

_ The war outside our door keeps raging on _

_ Hold on to this lullaby _

_ Even when the music's gone _

_ Gone," _

He brushes a stray strand of black hair from the half-asleep man, admiring his features in the dark.

" _ Just close your eyes _

_ The sun is going down _

_ You'll be alright _

_ No one can hurt you now _

_ Come morning light _

_ You and I'll be safe and sound," _

He peers down through his red bangs, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa's lips. 

" _ Goodnight, Hwa. _ "

Seonghwa jumps, startled, heart beating at a million miles per hour. That wasn't just a dream. It was a memory, and it wasn't wholly his _ memor _ y. It was Hongjoong's memory too. Had he been here last night while he slept? The calendar was no longer beside him, instead it was lying wide open on his letter on the coffee table. He hadn't placed it there, and the thought sends a small chill down his spine. If it had been Hongjoong, however, he'd be okay with it. 

It's right then he thinks he might get a heart attack, because his phone is blaring, and the ringtone for the call is the specific ringtone he'd set for the hospital, and his mind is screaming ‘ _ Hongjoong!’ _ at different pitches and speeds and time stamps all at once as he grabs the device, sliding right on the green flashing icon as he raises it to his ear, clearing his throat. 

"Hello?" 

"Park Seonghwa-ssi?" The voice on the other end of the line spoke. 

"Yes?"

"The hospital is calling to let you know that-" the line cracks. Seonghwa almost screams in frustration.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you, could you repeat that?"

"Yes, we're calling to let you know that it's been brought to our attention that your health is seemingly deteriorating, Seonghwa-ssi. We just wanted to let you know that support is always available for you. Firstly, are you okay? You sounded like you were struggling to speak earlier." Honestly, he wasn't okay. But the hospital didn't need to know that.

"No, no, I'm fine. I was.." his eyes flit to the clock hanging on the mantle. It's almost evening. He was out that long? "I was taking a nap. Just got back from a jog. After all, I have to stay in shape even if I am working from home." 

"That's good to hear, Seonghwa-ssi..."

"If there's nothing else, I must go now," 

"Yes, of course. Have a nice day, Seonghwa-ssi." He sighed as the lone cut off, allowing a few beeps to run before he set the phone down. He'd finished his work a month before it was due, throwing in every ounce of energy he could muster. As a painter, he was his boss. Of course, his buyers expected things from him periodically, but he was done for the moment. The blank canvases in the storeroom would be used at some point, but not now. Now he was just bored. Should he get another job? No. Probably not; he'd just end up stressing himself out all over again. But he itched just to do something;  _ anything _ . At first, he sifted through the drawers in search of the car keys before deeming them unnecessary. He could walk. The bar wasn't too far off, only about a couple of blocks away. 

The walk itself was pleasant. This time he saw no visions of red, no ghostlike whispers. Probably because he had gotten the most amount of sleep last night in comparison to the past few months, he'd pulled on his favourite black coat over a striped turtleneck, a necklace with a metal pendant of a cross his parents gave him years ago looped around his neck. It gave him something to grip onto while walking down, focusing on the cool silver, on the braided leather cord as he pushed through the glass doors of the bar. 

_ The Hidden Pearl _ was for the most part as its name suggested, a quaint bar with the vibes of an ideal location to film a scene straight out of a 70s movie, tucked away into the corner of a street not many chose to turn to, instead opting for the obnoxiously loud clubs further down the road. Seonghwa basked in the quietness of the location. Just muted conversations being shared over the rustling behind the counter, the sound of drinks being prepared. As he took his usual seat, a familiar face turned to meet his, a cigarette hanging loosely from between his lips. 

"The usual?" Seonghwa nodded. "I'll throw it on your tab. Give me a second." Jackson reached under the counter, pulling out a list before scribbling something down. " _ I like writing things down instead of typing them up. It feels nicer, _ " the Chinese man had explained to him once when asked why he didn't opt for a more automatic system. As the cold glass reached his grasp, his shoulders sagged slightly in relaxation, allowing some of the tension he had been clinging onto from earlier fall with a hard sip. "What happened this time?" He swirled the contents of the drink, refusing to meet the knowing eyes. "Seonghwa?"

"The hospital called to check on me,"

"Uh-huh,"

"I just... thought maybe it was because he had woken up. It's just the disappointment settling in." He paused. "Do I look that bad?" Jackson grimaced.

"Your eye bags are about as dark as they'll ever get, and they look like they're the size of my fist. Plus this is the palest you've been since we first met. Not to mention you look like you've lost weight, also is that a grey-" Seonghwa coughed into his palm. 

"Okay, okay. I get it. I look like shit.  _ Thanks _ , hyung." He rolled his eyes.

"You asked. I have to be honest, don't I?" 

"Yeah, sure. Could've told me I'm still not that bad looking despite all of that," he added. 

"Whatever makes you happy. Another one?" He pushed the empty glass in the other's direction. "Go easy this time, alright? Last time I had to drive you back. Not that I mind, but honestly, Seonghwa, you can't keep torturing your kidneys like this. What would Hongjoong say if he knew?" 

_ _ There it was— _ the guilt.  _

"He doesn't."

"Whatever makes you sleep better at night, Seonghwa. I'm just saying-" he turns momentarily to take another order, smiling at the girl who had made her way over.

"I'll take a One Night Stand," she grins, tilting her head slightly to throw a look in his direction. He shudders. He knows it's just the name of the cocktail, but something tells him she's hinting at the not-very-cocktail-related meaning behind the drink.

"Orange, strawberry, or peach?" Jackson shuffles over to the back to pull out some bottles. 

"Peach, please." she slips a wink as she says it. Jackson laughs drily. "You come here often?" She twirls a hair around a manicured finger. It takes Seonghwa a while to register that she's talking to him.

"Hm? No, not really. I prefer the comfort of my home when drinking, but once in a while, it's nice to be out."

"Alone, or with others?" There's a glint in her eye that makes him uncomfortable. "I'd drop by if you ever need company, hottie," she brushes her hand along his arm, eyelashes fluttering, "and I'd drink  _ anythin _ g you offer." He rolls his eyes before abruptly standing. 

"Listen,  _ ma'am _ ; I'm _ married." _ He points to his banded finger that she'd raked her pointed nails over earlier. 

"Your point being?" She smiles, taking a sip of the drink Jackson had slid across before making his way to a table. There were other customers, after all.

"Point being, I don't think your vision is impaired, so take a good look- _ I'm. not. interested _ ." She scowled in response, opening her mouth to say something else. Before she could grab his sleeve, he leaned over the counter to reach for a bottle. "Jackson-hyung!" he yelled. The man perked up from across the room, nodding slightly in Seonghwa's direction. He had enough for tonight. He wasn't in the mood to deal with people today, making his way out through the staff-only exit, turning the handle.

"Wait!" He heard her call. _ No thanks.  _

These occurrences were reasonably regular, but he wasn't in the mood. The one time a guy had spiked his drink, Jackson had kicked him out on the street, shaking his head at how Seonghwa failed to notice. He was one of the people who worried about him. 

_ "So why do you serve me anyway?"  _ Seonghwa had asked.

_ "If I don't serve you, you'll just go somewhere else and buy drinks there. At least here I can make sure you don't get dragged away to do things against your will. In the worst-case scenarios, I'm here to drive you back. Got it?"  _

_ "You sure I'm not just good for business?" _ He joked.

_ "Mark would agree, but you know he loves you. Heck, sometimes the way he worries about you makes me jealous."  _ He laughed, _ "We care about you, you idiot. If you ever need company, come over. If you want, you can bring food over, and we can have dinner together. Mark thinks you cook better than I can. I think he just needs to raise his taste standards." _

_ "Or you need to learn how to cook,"  _ Jackson narrowed his eyes at him, throwing a playful punch.

_ "You kids don't respect your elders any more these days." _ He huffed. 

_ "You're only four years older than me, hyung."  _

_ "Yeah, well, still older."  _

_ "Thanks, hyung." _

"Seonghwa!" He jolted out of the memory, leaning against the brick wall behind the bar. 

"Yes, hyung? Shouldn't you be in there?"

"Mark can take over for a while. We were about to talk before we were..." he sniffed, "...interrupted." Seonghwa said nothing, only sliding down to sit on the gravel before uncapping the bottle, offering some to the older man out of courtesy. "Have you ever read the story of the Little Prince, Seonghwa?" He shook his head slightly. 

"Why would I read a book meant for children?" Jackson tutted, sinking beside him. 

"I think it's better suited for adults. You should read it." He hummed. "To simplify it for you, the prince leaves his home and travels. And in chapter 12, he meets a drunkard. A tippler, who drinks to forget the shame that he gets from drinking. While I'm not saying you are of the same kind as the drunkard, I am saying that trying to erase your pain with harmful substances won't work. I promise you. Pull up anything you want. Adderall, morphine, cigarettes, drinks, they won't take your pain away. They won't ease it either. It feels as if they do, but they'll hurt you more than heal you. More harm than good _. Speaking of cigarettes-" _ he pulls a pack out of his pocket, offering one. Seonghwa takes it, lighting Jackson's before he ignites his. Jackson takes a drag. Exhales in the opposite direction. "Anyway, as I was saying, I'm not here to berate you. You do you, and even I turn to things like these," he gestures to the cigarette between his fingers, "to get rid of the stress. However, I am saying that you shouldn't over-do it. Also please don't do anything illegal. Fly off to Amsterdam if you need a weed brownie. If you can't afford that flight, don't do it. I know you're thinking about Hongjoong all the time, but you had a life before him. Maybe not as fulfilling, but a life all the same. Don't kill yourself off like this, Seonghwa. Hongjoong would have never wanted that, no matter how many times he threatened to murder you if you vacuumed while he was sleeping." 

A comfortable silence settles between them as they pull out what they can from the cigarettes, then Seonghwa speaks. "What am I supposed to do, then, hyung?" It's hoarse, and mostly a whisper, but Jackson catches it and shrugs. 

"Something you genuinely like. Don't say you like drinking, that's not what I mean, and you know it, I mean take pottery classes, or learn how to knit, go paragliding, do some rounds of yoga. Make yourself busy. Got it?"

"Got it," he winces through a dry cough. 

"Wait here, give me a second."

Jackson returns a bit later with a tall glass of plain water and an arm wrapped around his waist. Mark waves at him from the doorway as he passes Jackson a box, going back in to deal with the customers. A small voice in him breaks at sight, wishing he could wrap his arms around his lover too.

"So does Mark-hyung top..?" He jokes. 

Jackson snorts, handing him the glass. There are two sandwiches in the box, one of which he beckons for Seonghwa to take. 

"Maybe we're both switches; you'll never know." 

Seonghwa laughs out loud at that. 

"Whatever you say, hyung." Mark comes back out after the bar closes, pulling Seonghwa in for a hug before patting his head, cooing. 

"My _ widdle _ baby brother, how are you?" Seonghwa groans. 

"I'm only five years younger than you, why do both of you insist on treating me like a child?"

"Because you are," he teases, ruffling his black locks of hair. "Now would you like us to drive us back, or are you sober enough to walk?" 

"I'll walk, thanks. The night air helps." Mark nods, pressing a kiss to Jackson's cheek before tugging him closer. 

Seonghwa fakes a retching noise. "Not in front of the baby, please." They laugh, saying a last farewell before Jackson not so subtly grabs Mark's ass and pulls him into the bar. Gross. He'd probably hear them doing the deed if he stayed any longer, so the most reasonable thing to do now was to start walking back. Everything is fine until he sees a short man with red hair, step out of a club, looking a lot like Hongjoong from the back, hand in hand with a taller male with brown hair. Obviously, it isn't, but he feels a dip in the bottom of his chest, and everything hurts again. He walks past them, making his way to a building that wasn't home. 

As the giant door creaks open, he sighs heavily and walks up to the front pew. The statue of Jesus would probably sigh back if it could. It was probably sick of seeing him her _ e. "Are  _ you sick of me yet?" He says, his voice echoing ever so slightly. "I do hate you. Maybe not you, but the big man up there in the sky we call God. Hate him. And yet here I am, back in his 'house', for the third time this week." The bottle almost slips from his grasp.

"Does it matter to you that I am going mad? Not sure I can go away and reflect on it. Not sure I can get through my madness. If I can go to the top of a mountain, like a Buddhist Monk, perhaps I may have a chance. Life, my DNA, it has fit perfectly together, hasn't it? What is it for? For my art? Is it fair for a man to sacrifice his sanity for his craft? Is that what God wants? If that is so, then why must I be sacrificed? Why does great beauty come from great pain?" he inhaled, steadying himself with a drink. 

"I know it, I'm hitting rock bottom again, and the irony is that I can't be bothered bringing myself back to shore again. The currents are nasty. Drowning. Oblivion enshrouding, with pitch blackness greeting me. How I despise this feeling. But it's blackness I've always welcomed, for I've recently realised that it's not light and dark anymore. It more rather sees despite the conditions. It's the seeing that differentiates the two. So what shall I welcome? What to do? What Should I do? When to do it? Mindless, annoyed, frustrated. Seeking. Wondering. I just want to be. Am I afraid of losing Hongjoong? Am I afraid of losing myself? But what am I terrified of? If I can't trust myself, then who? What do I seek? What do I want from my life? So annoyed. So mentally bogged down. Screaming. Yelling. And yet still sinking. Wishing. Hoping. Doing. And yet still sinking. Is the answer that I'm so broken I just can't fix myself anymore? If so, why am I living? Living means meaning. There's no meaning in my life. Hate. Tears. Tears? What tears? Sadness. Hurt. But hurt by who? Can I blame you? Do I? Do I blame God? What the fuck am I supposed to do? What do I do?" His voice cracks as he curls into himself on the pew bench, muffling a sob.

"Seonghwa?" It's not Father Suh. The voice is much more familiar, one he hasn't heard for a long time. He lifts his head in disbelief

"Mother?" Mother Kim had aged, he noted, as she made her way over with a candlestick in one hand. He had never seen her look so distressed, even after that one time, he had been punched as a small boy and hugged her in an attempt to seek comfort. 

"Seonghwa, Seonghwa, my little boy, what's wrong?" She set the candlestick on the altar, making her way over to wrap him in a gentle hold. The familiar smell of lavender was still there. She probably used the same soaps and perfumes as she had all those years ago. He chokes up.

"When did you come back? What happened to the convent?"

"Nothing happened to the convent; I just wanted to come back home. Now, why were you yelling at the statue?" 

He says nothing, merely burying himself into the warmth of Mother Kim. "I don't wanna talk about it." He feels like a child again, but it's a nice feeling. 

"Okay. That's fine. But release me for a while, Seonghwa, let me sit down. My limbs aren't as strong as they used to be," he huffs, reluctantly letting go of the frail woman. She smiles and takes a seat beside him, beckoning for him to lie down in her lap. If he were soberer, he'd be embarrassed. But he was tired, and he wanted to let go for a while. He allows Mother Kim to stroke his hair absently as she tells him about the convent. Slowly, he falls asleep. Mother Kim looks down at the sleeping man in her lap and lets a tear fall. Her little boy had been through a lot, and she hadn't been there when he needed her to be. The guilt grew. Father Suh had written her a letter about Seonghwa a month back, and she had instantly packed up, requesting to leave and retake place at the church she had once been. After they approved, she took the first train back, hands clasped in silent prayer the whole way that she'd be able to see him. When she had said goodbye all those years ago, Seonghwa had just graduated from high school, proudly telling her about how he had been accepted to the college he wanted. He'd caught the sad look on her face, begging her to stay. She had been his mother figure for as long as he could remember; especially since his mother was never too bothered with her son. When his parents died in a car crash a year prior to Mother Kim’s transfer, she and Father Suh had let him live within the church walls in the dorm of the altar boys despite not being one. They were more family to him than his own. Perhaps that was why he came back each week, even if it was to curse at the ancient statue. She peered down at the sleeping man. 

_ Seonghwa is all grown up now.  _

Twenty-two, and yet she still saw the fragile little boy who used to ask for piggyback rides after running away from home while his parents argued. The little boy who exceeded expectations, who ran to her with his report cards in hand, hoping for words of kindness he could not find. He was only human. And humans bleed when they fell. Seonghwa was bleeding; he was hurt, had been hurt a lot in his life.

He stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling. "Dear God, Lord, you know best. But I think he's going to break on himself soon," she pulled the bottle cradled within his arms away, replacing it with her hand. She feels him squeeze it. 

"Goodnight, Seonghwa."

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

When Seonghwa wakes up, he finds that Mother Kim is no longer there, and has a minor panic attack, sending himself into a fit of coughing and wheezing, struggling to breathe. "Seonghwa!" She hears him call out as she runs over, carrying a tray in her arms. Her voice is soothing, a wave of ease settling back into him as she pats his back. "I went to make you breakfast. It's not much, but hopefully filling enough," she pulls over two bowls of soybean paste stew, handing one over.

"You made it?" She nods, clasping her hands together silently in prayer as thanks. He follows suit before digging in. It's familiar and warm. 

"How is it?" She asks after a while, sipping on hot tea. 

"Better than I remember," he finally says. The triumphant look on her face tells him she's satisfied with the answer. As soon as they finish, Mother Kim ushers him to the showers (which still look the same as they used to), giving him a towel and some clothes that probably belong to Father Suh. He obliges, washing himself off under the cold stream of water, lathering his body with the same scentless liquid soap they've always stocked up with. Although he decides to re-wear the pants from last night, he slips into Father Suh's black sweater. It's comfortable. 

He makes his way through the hall, re-living memories of basically growing up with the building. He recalls one time when he had scribbled over a stone column in a blue crayon, one of the sister's catching him red-handed in the middle of drawing people. He had been made to stay with his drawing until Father Suh came, who gently asked him what he was drawing.  _ "I saw the big mural on the wall, of the last supper, where Jesus is with his friends, and wanted to make one too." _ He had stammered, the corner of his eyes gathering tears.  _ "T-this is Father Suh. This is me, Mother Kim, Sister Hye..."  _ he hears Father Suh chuckle, bending down slightly to ruffle his hair. 

_ "It's beautiful, Seonghwa, but you cannot draw on the columns, hm? People will misunderstand and think you are vandalising the house of the Lord,"  _ Seonghwa's eyes had widened.

_ "N-no! I didn't mean to vandalise,"  _ he hiccuped. 

_ "I know, Seonghwa. Come. Follow me,"  _ he reached a hand towards the small boy, who then clutched his finger as they walked back into his office, Seonghwa clambering onto the sofa in front of the desk. Father Suh had walked over to his shelf, rummaging through some books before pulling out a large sketchbook and some pencils from a drawer. Seonghwa made grabby hands at the items, making him laugh.  _ "When you get older and learn how to paint, Seonghwa, I'll let you paint the church. Deal?"  _

_ "Deal,"  _ His eyes had shone at the prospect. Hence he was spurred into pursuing art, marching through art school, clothes always stained with splatters of acrylics, the bottom of his shoes covered in marks. 

He knocked on the door of the office twice. 

“Come in,” the voice of Father Suh came from behind the door. “Ah, Seonghwa-ssi. I see Mother Kim has given you my sweater. Is it to your liking? I am afraid that anything else would have been too… tacky.”

“No, no, this is fine. Can I work here with you? I know you still have some of those empty scrolls I left behind,” he gave Father Suh a lopsided grin. 

“Bottom left cupboard,” he gestured with his pen, still sorting through paperwork. There was a time when Seonghwa would help him with those, sitting cross-legged on Saturdays sifting through checklists and budget sheets. 

“Father?” He called out once settled on the carpet, leaning near the fireplace.

“Yes?”

“I know it’s none of my business, but have you ever been in love?” The older man paused, dipping the fountain pen into a jar of ink.

“I have. Many many years ago, before you were even born, possibly.” Seonghwa’s eyes bored into his, silently asking out of curiosity. He sighed.

“A long, long time ago-“ he began, Seonghwa chuckling slightly as he sat in a more comfortable position “-back when I was not yet a Father, I fell in love.”

“Do I know them?” He whispered.

“Perhaps. Now stop interrupting me, or I’ll stop telling you-“ he paused to look at the man sitting on the ground pointedly, “-and leave you to your own devices. Long before I became a priest, I was still under the covenant of the church. Of course, as young boys, we still had urges and such, so I was rendered helpless one day when I bumped into a girl while walking to class. They weren’t supposed to be on our side, but she had come to send some papers. It started as a simple crush, where I’d just admire her from afar, but then I realised I might have been falling in love after we had spoken a couple more times. We’d steal away to talk after hours or schedule places where we could make our meetings look accidental.” 

“Sneaky, Father Suh,” Seonghwa chided.

“Days turned to months and months to years. We were both to be ordained, and we were to take our vows of celibacy. So one night when we stole away, I confessed,” he paused as if wondering whether or not he should continue. “I told her I knew she was to be ordained, and that I was too. But I was going to say no to both of those things, and ask her to be my wife.” He pushed his glasses up. “She said no; told me that these were the paths destined for us by God. Kim Sohee broke my heart so much that day, and I lost the need to love romantically ever again.” Seonghwa’s eyes widened.

“You used to be in love with Mother Kim?”

“Keywords:  _ used to _ . Now that I’ve told you that, please help me out with some papers. I can barely see these tiny fonts.” Seonghwa was happy to oblige, making his way over to the desk as he pulled the chair with squeaky wheels closer, pulling a random pen out of the mug Father Suh offers. 

A few hours and a whole stack of folders sorted later, Mother Kim pops her head around the door and calls out that lunch is ready, and that all the residents are gathered in the dining hall to eat. Seonghwa hesitates at first, but both of the elders in the room pull him to his feet, insisting he joins them. Honestly, he just wants to be alone and maybe look for the drink he had yesterday (which he’s sure Mother Kim has confiscated, but he knows where she used to keep contraband, it should be the same). 

But it feels nice, being taken care of, within such a friendly community. It’s not too bad, having people fuss about. 

Maybe it’s worth it, he thinks. Perhaps it was worth it, to hold his breath, to bite his tongue at service, just to be surrounded by others. Maybe it was worth it to fake a smile or forced a laugh if it would get others to join him, he ponders, as they sit around the long table, heads bowed slightly in appreciation for the meal. 

“Father,” he whispers, Father Suh looking up from across the table, raising an eyebrow in question. “Can I-“ the words get caught in his throat.

“Can you?” 

“Can I come back?”

“Of course you can come back, Seonghwa. We’re always here for you,”

“Not- not like that. Can I live here? I can pay rent and whatnot, and I can repaint the confession box, and-” Father Suh pauses, setting his chopsticks down. 

“No, Seonghwa,” Seonghwa opens his mouth before the older man raises a hand, gesturing for him to wait. “You have your responsibilities, and we have ours. But you will always be welcomed when you come. I’m sure everyone would be okay with letting you sleep in the TA chambers, but just for over the weekend. So go back, pack your things, then return. However, you must promise me you’ll stay at home on Monday. We have duties we must not run away from, for I am aware that the last time you accepted a commission was two months ago.” He goes back to eating solemnly, but something short of a smile rests on his face. He can stay. Sure, just two days a week, but it makes a difference. After they finish the meal, Mother Kim shows him where he gets to stay. It’s smaller than his and Hongjoong’s bedroom, but it has an attached bathroom, plus a kitchen equipped with the necessary things needed to prepare food. 

“I know it’s a bit small, but it’s better than getting you to share a bunk bed with the altar boys, yes?” The corners of her eyes crinkle up. “Do you remember what that was like?” He laughs in response, nodding. Of course, he remembers waking up to 15 other boys calling dibs on who gets to shower first, how they had snuck in a can of beer on his birthday under their robes for him, all of them taking small sips as it was passed around a circle, each taking turns to guard the door in case a priest would check on them. They never got caught. 

“I’ll go first and pack up. Goodbye, Mother,” he presses a kiss to her hand. Just a couple changes of clothes and a toothbrush should be sufficient; he notes as he sits in the cab he had flagged, eyes flitting over the people walking on the pavement whizzing by. 

As he turns the lock, he looks regretfully over the thin layer of dust gathering over the furniture, regretting not closing the window when he left. It’s pure instinct to clean up first, wiping down the kitchen counters, replacing the lint roller when it’s been used up. Only when the house is deemed spotless does he begin packing up, pulling out casual outfit sets from the dresser and folding them in half to stuff into the bag (neatly, of course). He can’t bring himself to take the toothbrush, leaving it to hang beside Hongjoong’s on the mirror, instead of taking a new one from the medical cabinet. Enough, he reckons. Then the photograph on the coffee table catches his eye, essentially beckoning him to come closer as he takes it, bundling it up in a sweater, not preferring to risk breaking the gilded, wooden frame. 

The photograph reminds him of why he’s still alive.

He finds himself running to the hospital in a matter of minutes, bag slung over his shoulder, walking past staff and pushing into room 90210. 

“Hongjoong, my love,” he says breathlessly, leaning over to kiss the smaller man. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while. Did you miss me?” He brushes a hand against his soft cheek. “You’ve lost some weight,” Seonghwa exclaims ruefully. “I met Mr Lee a few days ago. Do you remember who he is? He was one of the security guards back in college. We should visit him sometime.” 

“I won’t be visiting for a while, Joong. I think I need to get myself back together. I’m staying over at the Church this weekend. And oh! Mother Kim came back. I’ve told you about her before. Maybe I can bring her along to visit. She’d love to meet you.” He sets the bag down, smoothing out the creases in the sheets with a thumb. 

“I miss you, Hongjoong.” He whispers. “Please. Say something.” A choked noise tears out. “Anything.”

“I feel like I’m giving up on you, Hongjoong. I’m afraid. I don’t want to.  _ Please. Say something.  _ I would’ve followed you to the ends of the world and back, Joong, because you’re my world, my everythi _ ng. I feel helpless without you,  _ I feel so small as if I’ve gone back to being a child- I know nothing without you.” His lower lip trembles as he moves closer, lying down, pulling Hongjoong’s head to his chest.  _ “May I sing you a lullaby?”  _ He inhales, tracing the features on his lover’s face. 

_ “I hope our ending _

_ wouldn't be sad _

_ So I won't be sad when I recall this moment _

_ Can it be like that? _

_ I want a happy ending _

_ If it can't happen _

_ It will become a painful wound _

_ If the way to remember you by getting hurt, _

_ I'm willing to do that _

_ Will you? _

_ When I see you being weak _

_ I forgot my long pain for a moment _

_ I want to rest in your arms once more like this _

_ My greed grows bigger than my fear _

_ that I could not sleep _

_ I want to see you in the snowy winter _

_ if that also can't happen _

_ Please remember me in this moment _

_ Our night, the sad and beautiful _

_ is the night when the petals fly _

_ Our happy ending,”  _

His cheeks are wet. He glances at the clock. “I need to go now, Hongjoong.” He rises gently, ensuring the man beside him is in a position that looks comfortable. “Goodbye, my love.”

He feels a tug on his sleeve.

“Hongjoong?” dark brown eyes look up at him blearily. 

**_“Seong...hwa...”_ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this fic (could you tell?):   
> 1\. Crooked - GD  
> 2\. Spring Day - BTS  
> 3\. Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift  
> 4\. SOBER - BIGBANG  
> 5\. Human - Christina Perri  
> 6\. Say Something - A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera  
> 7\. Our Happy Ending - (Hotel De Luna OST) IU

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaa I did so much research for this ngl if you wanna talk to me about it hmu on Twitter lol I'll throw you my reference links @hannah_uwo 
> 
> also this was a birthday present for @amajin_horre on twt go wish her happy birthday uwuwuwuwu


End file.
